


Hic Draconis (The Adam Serpens Orientis Remix)

by lferion



Category: American Idol RPF, Glam Rock RPF
Genre: Counted Word Fic, Drabble Sequence, Dragons, Evil Wizards, Fairy Tale Tropes, M/M, Poetry, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragon Adam, Steadfast Kris</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hic Draconis (The Adam Serpens Orientis Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Adam Japan Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/804) by Roga. 



> Many thanks to Auberus for encouragement, beta-reading and general prodding-until-done. It wouldn't have happened without you.

  
____spacer____

  


* * *

Adam was hot. And there were feathers (or fur, or something leather-and-smoke-and-soft) tickling at his nose. The bed didn't feel quite … right. Without opening his eyes he shoved at the stifling covers. The covers resisted. Something moved unexpectedly against his back, rustling and pricking, and his hands were oddly stiff. Had he forgotten to take his gloves off before going to bed? And surely, _surely_ he had not felt that push from the cover's point of view. Duvets didn't have nerves, and he wouldn't feel them if they did. That had to be a dream-leftover, or nightmare.

How … unexpected. He tried again, and the warm, black leather-and-feathers-and-smoke-and-gold.... The light was too bright for his slitted eyes; he was surely imagining black where there should be white, leather instead of linen. Gold. There was gold glowing in bright curved lines against the black, and sharp prickles that seemed to match the points was making a part of him he'd never felt before shiver and twitch. He tried wiggling his fingers, and the curves moved instead - claws, they were claws, talons burnished and shining and wickedly sharp. His claws. They caught at the bedclothes. He flinched hard at the unexpected pain, and the fabric jerked itself away with a rustling snap that tumbled him right out of bed. Not covers. Wings. His wings.

_The fierce, jealous, huddle of a man, unaccountably furious, making sharp, angry little motions, full of unreadable meaning, all the while half-muttering, half-singing a disturbing little tunelet, just a few notes in uncomfortable intervals, the words all slithery, slippery vowels, hissing consonants. Urging the cute and enthusiastic young man out of his lap, behind his back, out of the way of the spell. Feeling his own throat swell, as if his own voice and song could defend him. The incantation hitting him, fizzing on his skin, buzzing in his ears, building to a silent thunderclap and then everything going dark.... _

Not a nightmare, then, or dream. It seemed he was a dragon, with wings and everything. He wondered what it would take to turn him back.

* * *

Once upon a time there was a sad little man who was so afraid of what he wanted (which he was convinced was Wrong) and so afraid that other people might actually have fun and fearlessly enjoy themselves doing the thing(s - there were lots of things he was afraid of and afraid he might want) he wanted to do, that he decided to Do Something about it. It happened he had a talent for incantation, particularly for spells that changed the outer form of those he was particularly infuriated and frightened by. But while he could - and did - turn people into creatures, they were rarely the miserable, helpless monsters of his intent and choice. No, the targets of his ire did not become lumpen toads or toothless lizards, mangy donkeys or harsh-voiced geese. Instead they became creatures of magic and wonder: firebirds and unicorns, hippogriffs, camelopards and dragons, as perilous and beautiful as the people they had been.

It only made him even madder (in several senses, really, for magic has a cost, and twisted magic twists the wielder as much or more than those it is used against), that no matter the transformation (beautiful or terrible, miserable or stubbornly, even gleefully, making the best of things) none of his fear and anger-fueled workings lasted. A lover's kiss would always break the enchantment. It might take a while, but true love invariably came along sooner or later and figured it out. And Pop! went the spell like a soap-bubble.

* * *

Being a dragon had its advantages — flying was an amazing rush, and really fun once Adam got the hang of it. He was never cold, not even in the winter when it snowed or the wind blew icy rain into every cranny, which was a good thing because his wings didn't fit indoors very well, and the caves in the hills were farther from the town than he liked to be for long. Food was no problem; Adam had worked out an arrangement with the local people, where he kept watch and protected them all from annoyances like the wizard that had transformed him or importunate bandit-gangs, and helped out when wings or claws or carefully directed high wind would be of use. They even let him sing occasionally. (The high-wind thing was kind of an issue there, they had to make special arrangements for that.)

But Adam was lonely, and he really missed dressing up (though he was nicely glittery as a dragon - the outfit he'd been wearing had translated to fabulous spikes and scales and gems, all black and gold, ruby and sulfur and citrine, fire-bright, smoke-wreathed colors. Nothing at all wrong with that, but it was always the same: hide instead of clothes. Much as he loved black and gold, he liked silver and sapphire too.) He missed singing without having to be careful of his surroundings. He missed sleeping in a real bed, and most of all he missed having a lover to share that bed with.

* * *

Now in a distant land there lived a young man of good heart and cheerful mien who loved to venture forth making music and helping people. Eventually, the tale of the magically transformed people came to his ears. Some of his country-folk were kind of in sympathy with the bitter old wizard, but Kris really, really wasn't.

The tale of the enchanted dragon stayed with him. Eventually, he decided he had to Do Something about it, and he went on a Quest to find him and free him. So what if the dragon was a guy; love was love, and _agape_ and _philos_ were as much love as _eros_ was. And who knew but that eros might be in it too, which could lead to all kinds of interesting things. Plus there was supposed to be a treasure. Treasure was always good, though no-one seemed to know what it actually was.

So Kris left his homeland and went searching for the dragon. Along the way he learned several things, including that penises could be really awesome, so that was all right. And presently he came to the land of the rising sun, and the place where the dragon lived.

Okay, so the idea of kissing an actual dragon was really kind of scary, especially if it didn't work, but the instant he saw him, beautiful and stark against the sky, Kris knew that, treasure or no and the perilousness of dragons notwithstanding, his heart was engaged, and he had to try.

* * *

"Oh," said the tiny cute guy, when the silent thunderclap stopped ringing in Adam's ears and he could hear again. "So that actually worked." Adam blinked, clearing the dazzle from his eyes. The guy was still really cute, though not quite so tiny. He was licking his lips as though he could still taste dragon-Adam there.

_Stretching out his neck, laying his head close and feeling the cool, sweet press of lips at the corner of his jaw, the impossible moist brush of tongue-tip against the delicate skin there, his whole self yearning and shivering at the touch. Hearing the faintest hum of music, hopeful song. Then coruscating light and soundless clangor bursting out all around him, every particle of his being fizzing, flying apart in shards of smoke and gold, sparks whirling in a dizzy shout of joy to coalesce into himself again, and he _was_ himself again, a human man, no longer dragon-bound. _

It was kind of distracting, in a way Adam hadn't felt in far too long, heat and fire and glorious need gathering in his belly. He wriggled a little in happiness, reaching his arms up and out, turning his wrists and splaying out his restored fingers, stretching his spine to its full length. It was odd to not have the weight and reach of wings tugging at his back. He turned to look where they had been, seeing only the plain expanse of leather. "I think I'm going to need to fit some wings to this jacket," he hummed, rolling his shoulders lithely, "something with jewel stones. And studs."

The man who had kissed him was still there, wide-eyed and open-mouthed (and oh, Adam wanted to kiss that mouth, taste his human sweetness, revel in his own) but not at all afraid. Adam grinned. "Adam."

"Kris," he said, taking Adam's proffered hand.

"My hero," Adam murmured, perfectly sincere. Kris turned a delightful shade of red when Adam pressed a hopeful kiss into his palm. Strong fingers curled around his own, not letting go.

"So, uh, there was supposed to be a treasure?"

Treasure? Well, Adam had regained what _he_ certainly treasured. His smile widened. "Oh yeah. The treasure is my penis."

"Oh," Kris breathed, desire and happiness glowing in his face. He moved closer, looking up, and Adam pulled them together, feeling Kris through every layer between them, wanting skin on skin, nearly giddy with the press of Kris's treasure hard and hot, insistent against his own. Kris was still talking, breathless, "I was kind of hoping so."

Adam kissed him, fierce and happy and human, tasting love and music, desire and delight. They were going to be so very awesome together.

* * *

  


  
Indeed there is a treasure  
Betwixt your shapely thighs  
All matchless in its measure  
Now see it mighty rise!  
Filling snug and tight  
Drilling deep and dight  
Tilling hard and right  
Spilling hot and white   
In glorious surprise  
Pure gold your joy in leisure  
Your low and sexy sighs,  
So rich are we in pleasure  
Love's own and heart-felt prize!  


  


* * *


End file.
